


Breaking Point

by ardett



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Gender Dysphoria, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Spectrum Zine, Trans Character, Trans Lance (Voltron), mostly angst, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 01:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12311679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: Lance wants to be a good boyfriend and he realizes that means making some sacrifices.





	1. Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> A piece I made for the [SPECTRUM Vol-trans zine](https://voltrans-zine.tumblr.com/) finally exposed to the world! I wrote this what feels like eons ago, but here it is
> 
> Based off [this video](https://youtu.be/Ch8E3N6K5B4?t=7m33s) (I love Ash Hardell)

Lance’s hand claws at his chest. His nails (his too long nails) leave raised red marks down his skin. The scratches travel along his left collarbone to the top of his clavicle where his fingers suddenly become tangled in something else.

Logically, he knows that it’s less constricting. Logically, he knows that this is more comfortable. Logically, he knows this is better for his body. His lungs fill with clear air the better for it. His bruised ribs are the better for it.

So why is it so hard for him to breath?

Someone else walks into the kitchen and Lance zips up his hoodie.

It should hardly even matter. He was always tall and lanky. He hasn’t bought a regular bra in years but the last time he did, he was only a B. His shirt is large enough on him, the hoodie spacious enough even unzipped. No one can tell the difference.

When Hunk turns away, Lance quickly tucks the elastic strap further under his shirt just in case it was showing in the sliver of space between his shirt and his neck.

It’s just a sports bra, he reminds himself. Not a big deal. Just a sports bra.

And when Keith pulls him into his room and kisses Lance deeply, Lance reminds himself that it’s worth it. It’s worth it when Keith’s hand slips under his shirt and there’s no clasps to undo, no pauses for breath when his binder is too tight.

Not like the first time they tried to fool around and they had to stop for five minutes to get off Lance’s binder. Keith had said it was fine, had whispered sweetness into each knob of Lance’s spine as he undid the clasps one by one. Not like the second time when it took Lance extra long to extract himself from the fabric’s confines as it caught on his still sweat sticky skin, and Keith had to watch and wait. It was fine, Keith said it was fine, but Lance doesn’t remember that. He remembers red slicking down his neck and heat like lava in his veins and the crushing feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with wearing a binder. He remembers feeling awful and uncomfortable and completely unsexy.

He doesn’t want that again. He doesn’t.

(He also doesn’t want to look down and see his chest, but it’d be worse to look across the table and see Keith and remember making his boyfriend watch and wait.)

It’s good this time. It’s easy and that makes it good.

Keith is happy, so Lance is happy. And that makes it worth it.

 

For a while, that’s enough. It takes a little practice to remember to grab a sports bra instead of a binder but it cuts a minute or two off his morning routine, so he’s on time to breakfast now. (That’s not enough to make it worth it but when he can just pull Keith aside into a hallway after training, it’s worth it. When the two of them can tumble into bed and the mood never has to falter with Lance struggling out of his binder, it’s worth it.)

And if he wears his jacket more often now, it’s just a small sacrifice. And if he crosses his arms more often and more tightly over his chest, it’s hardly noticeable. Well, Keith hasn’t noticed anyway.

(That’s a lie. Keith has noticed. The very first day, he noticed. He had asked as his hand slipped along the slices of Lance’s ribs and his fingertips met stretchy elastic.

“No binder? Has it been bothering you?”

“Just training. You know, it’s bad to wear a binder when you-”

“Well, I know. Do you know?” Keith nuzzled against Lance’s neck. “Because you always seem to wear one anyway.”

Lance kissed him before the mood slipped away. He felt Keith’s laugh bubble between his own lips.

He never answered the question.)

So for a couple of weeks, that was enough. Now he wonders again if it really is. How much simpler would it be just to have a hook or two to undo? How much easier would it be to just give a little tug behind his back and have the whole wretched thing slide off? It would be simplier, easier for Keith if Lance just started wearing a regular bra, right?

He salvages one up from somewhere and wears it on their free days when there’s no scheduled training. He has to remember the right way to put it on, the way his mom showed him when he was young before he went to sports bras and then binders. (This feels like a step backwards but no one’s pressuring him into this, he reminds himself. He wants to do this for Keith, Keith who is gay and probably never wanted someone like Lance so if Lance can just make this easier-- ) It’s a sort of weird hookturnflipup sort of pattern that he had almost forgotten. He looks at those three rows of hooks and remembers keeping track of how many in he could go as a way to watch his weight. During sports season, he would hook in all the way but after a few months of winter, the loosest setting was most comfortable. He would have thought he had grown since the last time he wore a regular bra but it seems like all the training has kept him slim. 

It’s hard to forget that it’s there. Not like the sports bra, which was comfortable enough even if it didn’t do what Lance wanted it to do. There’s unforgiving wires that bend and poke when he sits down, there’s straps that dig into his shoulders, there’s adjusting buckle imprints on his back. The worst part is that it doesn’t only seem to support but almost seems to accentuate. His shirts aren’t made for the kind of curves he was born with and if he’s not wearing his jacket, it’s obvious. He could claw his skin off, just a little bit.

It’s a relief when Keith asks if he wants to spend a night and all Lance wants to say is  _ this is for you, for you, for you. _

Keith helps Lance tug his shirt over his head. And then he freezes.

“Are you… Why… A bra?” Keith’s face comes together in confusion and he’s not quite looking Lance in the eyes, just staring at his chest. 

It all crashes down around Lance like a tidal wave on the darkest beaches. What was he thinking? Of course Keith doesn’t want to see him in a bra, because Keith likes boys and boys don’t have to wear bras and why would Lance think that Keith would want anything to do with a boy who wears bras? It was a stupid,  _ stupid _ idea but all Lance wanted to do was make it easier for Keith and-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I- I just- I wanted to make it easier for you s-so you didn’t have to keep waiting for me to take off my binder a-and you liked it so much when I wearing a sports bra, I thought-” He curls into Keith’s shoulder but his tears are as visible in his voice as his face.

Keith’s hands are dead at Lance’s side. “I liked it when you wore a sports bra because I thought it meant you weren’t hurting yourself by wearing a binder all the time.”

“I- I know-” He doesn’t know. “B-But I- You always have to- I know you don’t want to undo all those stupid clasps and be reminded that I’m n-not a normal- a normal-”

“Lance, stop, stop.” Keith whispers, pained and disappointed. “You’re a boy. You’re as much of a boy as I am. You know that, don’t you?”

Lance hides his face in Keith’s neck. “Yes.”

“Why- Why would you think I wanted-” Keith’s voice cracks. “That I wanted you to change yourself for me? Did… Did I make you think that?”

“N-no, but I know y-you don’t want to have to deal with me getting out of a binder when we’re trying to have sex. This is easier, right? Better? If all I have to do is stop binding, then I should just-- ”

“Stop it, stop it! You don’t get to decide what I want! I would never want you wear something that makes you feel like someone you aren’t, and I would never want you to do that for something as stupid as sex. You- You’re so much more important than how much time it takes for you to get undressed. And I never- I never minded helping you take off your binder. I thought it…” Keith’s breaths pools warm in Lance’s collarbones. “I thought it meant you trusted me.”

Lance can’t answer. He just cries and cries, fingers aching from how tightly they’re tangled in Keith’s shirt, throat sore and eyes stained with saltwater. He chokes over and over again on the same words as Keith strokes soothing patterns on his skin and tries to hum comfort into the air.

“M’sorry.” Before Keith can say anything, Lance rushes out. “I think I love you.”

Keith kisses Lance’s trembling cheek. “I love you too. And we’re going to figure this out together. Okay?”

Lance closes his eyes and whispers back, “Okay.” 

 

Lance still wears sports bras when they train. This is one thing Keith doesn’t budge on. He has kissed too many bruises on Lance’s ribs, he says. And he will still kiss Lance’s sun soaked skin, even without the healing colors of black and blue. (Keith doesn’t go back on that promise.)

Lance shoves the barely used bra into the back of his drawer and finds his binders from where they had been hidden away from his yearning eyes. Funny how he seems to breath easier when he puts one on again for the first time in weeks. It feels like his skin is his again, settled smoothly from the joints on his wrists to bones of his ankles. His clothes fit him the way he wants them to and he takes out his favorite shirts that hadn’t been deemed baggy enough for him to wear before. His jacket ends up casually tied around his waist more often as he rolls up his sleeves and feels free.

He still worries, just a kernel of anxiety in his chest, when things get heated between him and Keith. He laces his fingers with Keith’s, as much a gesture of affection as a cease all to Keith’s movement. “I- I need to take off my, um-”

“I think we should call it a binder break.” Keith says as he begins to help Lance out of his shirt before moving onto his binder.

“Um, what?”

“Yeah, like a binder break. You know, it’s alliteration and shit. You like things with cute names and you like to take breaks-- ”

“Hey!”

“So I thought it might help you associate it with something good.” Keith’s face grows red and he ducks his head down to finish with the rest of Lance’s binder.

Lance pauses to consider it. “It is kind of cute, I guess.” He grins. “Just like you!” Keith’s nose wrinkles and Lance kisses it, laughing.

  
Over the next few weeks, the tension in Lance’s chest eases. It is not only because he’s being safer with binding. He looks forward to binder breaks now because that’s when Keith will murmur,  _ I love you, I love you, I love you however you are. _ And Lance will say it right back.


	2. A Revolution Knocking on My Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11/07/2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus! My other, shorter piece for the SPECTRUM. It's based off a myriad of my experiences and others' experiences, after an event I'm sure you'll be able to piece together

_ “Keith?” _ Lance’s voice rings high and strained in the late night quiet. Keith shifts as Lance crawls into bed next to him. Lance huddles into the curve of Keith’s spine, forehead to Keith’s neck and breath shuddering over the plain of his back. His hands are curled loosely near Keith’s hips.

They are trembling.

Keith’s mind is still soaked with sleep but he stirs as worry peaks its head out like a monster lurking under the bed. The words muddle in his mouth as he gives a questioning murmur.

“I-  _ Keith-” _ The words lay warm and wet on Keith’s skin where Lance breathes them. “He- he won. He’s gonna… he’s gonna be…”

There is body heat radiating from where they just barely touch. Everywhere else is deathly cold.

Lance must feel it, must feel the way Keith’s body goes stiff and his ribs tighten over his lungs, like how Keith feels the trickle slipping from Lance’s eyes and tracking down his own shoulder blade.

“Hey, hey…” Keith turns to face Lance, feverishly wiping the tears off the other boy’s face and trying to, trying to-

Lance’s eyes are dead, like carrion stripped bones and winter trees.

Keith presses their foreheads together, hands running over Lance’s heated skin and protruding bones like somehow that will fix things.  _ It’s going to be okay, _ he tries to say but Lance has ducked into the crook of Keith’s neck and Keith doesn’t know if he can look Lance in the eyes when those blues are as lifeless as ash fields and the Dead Sea, dry and wet and dead.

“I’m scared.” Lance mumbles into Keith’s skin where he usually giggles confessions and even as Keith clutches Lance tighter, it doesn’t make up for the way it  _ hurts. _

“He can’t change things that much. There- there are laws-”

“No, no, Keith, you don’t get it! You just- Sorry, but you weren’t even paying attention to the election; you didn’t even stay up to watch it. It’s- It’s not just… Every branch is republican. He’s the president and the Senate and the House are republican and they just- they can do whatever the  _ fuck _ they want-” Lance’s gasp pools in Keith’s collarbones like thunder in summer rain.

Keith nuzzles deeper into Lance’s hair. The blackness of the room stares back him and maybe this night will last forever and they will never have to wake up.

Lance begins to talk again. “They’re mostly executive orders. Did you know that? All those laws that let me use the right bathroom and provide gender neutral bathrooms and shit? He can just undo them. Just like that.”

“People don’t want to go backwards.”

Lance chokes off a laugh. “They hate us, Keith. You don’t think they do because they’re not allowed to anymore but now the president’s saying it and- and-” Lance curls tighter into Keith’s chest. “They hate us.”

 

“You know they have DASA and stuff, right?” Pidge says but their eyes skitter. “Gay marriage is legal all across the US now. It’s federal law. That’d be a lot to undo, you know? They can’t revive Supreme Court cases without a good reason. And we live in New York. We’re super liberal.”

“What does that even mean?” Lance growls, throwing down his fork. “Just because nothing going to change here, we don’t have to worry about everywhere else? Do you know how hard it already is to get abortion care?”

“We have a Planned Parenthood right in town.”

“Yeah,  _ because  _ we live in New York. Things might be okay here but we’re not our own little country! Pennsylvania went red! What does that mean when we cross state lines? We can’t just ignore this because nothing’s going to change here!”

Pidge stares back, their eyes wide and distressed. “I- I know. I didn’t mean… I was just saying.”

Lance deflates, hands rubbing over his eyes. “I know. I know, sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe this happened.”

 

_ “So are you free this weekend? Wanna see a movie Saturday?” _

“Nah, I’m busy, sorry. Heading up to Minnesota.” Lance’s phone dangles between his fingers. Awkwardly, he tries to undo his binder with one hand.

_ “Minnesota?” _ Keith’s voice gets louder as Lance wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear. He falls back onto the couch once the pressure is relieved from his chest.

“Yeah, my cousin is getting married.”

_ “Oh wow, tell them congrats.” _

“Yeah, well…” Lance blows a strand of hair off his forehead. “It’s not really… They want to get married before the inauguration. You know, in case anything happens and they can’t anymore. Since they’re both girls.

_ “Oh.” _

“I gotta go pack. I’ll see you Monday though, yeah? Love you.”

_ “Love you too. See you.” _

 

“You know people will rise up, right? They won’t let this happen.” Keith murmurs into Lance’s hair.

Lance looks at their linked hands, fingers pale and fingers tanned, soft pads and calloused tips, linked together. He squeezes a little bit tighter. “I know.”


End file.
